Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
Noelle
"Noelle! That's wonderful! You did absolutely perfectly!"
Sofia's voice crackled through the receiver, barely containing her excitement. "You know what? Those families that have been crushing our business—they're all going under! Their cash flow has dried up completely, and now they're scrambling to file for bankruptcy!"
I gripped the phone, leaning against the bedroom window, watching the snow drift down outside.
"Is that so?"
"Of course it's true!" Sofia's tone grew even more animated. "And that dock property that used to be ours? Now people are actually willing to negotiate! Noelle, this is all your doing!"
"My doing?" I gave a bitter laugh. "Mom, I haven't done anything."
"You married Kholod Morozov—that's everything!" Her voice carried that familiar note of certainty. "Noelle, you need to keep this up. Make Kholod treasure you more, make him dependent on you. You understand what I'm saying?"
I closed my eyes as a wave of revulsion washed over me.
"Mom, I'm tired."
"Tired of what?" She suddenly raised her voice. "Noelle, you need to push harder! Are you pregnant yet? If you could give Kholod a son, then our family would truly—"
"Enough." I cut her off sharply. "Mom, I have things to do. I'm hanging up."
"Noelle! You—"
I ended the call abruptly.
Mom claimed the family's turnaround was all thanks to Kholod. That brutal, twisted man—why would he help the Belluccis?
I recalled Anastasia's words at dinner, remembered Kholod's impassive face.
Was he really doing this for me? Or for the Morozov family's reputation?
Regardless, he had indeed helped my family.
At least Mother would believe I was being useful.
For the time being, I probably wouldn't receive any more of those suffocating calls urging me to please my husband.
I could have some peace.
At that thought, a flicker of gratitude stirred within me.
I couldn't help but recall our moments together since I'd entered this manor—his sudden appearance in the library, those burning amber eyes when he bent to kiss me, his dangerous, invasive presence when he whispered in my ear, the tremor-inducing sensation of his calloused fingertips tracing my skin. ..
My pulse quickened.
Damn it.
How could I feel this way about him?
Father's face suddenly surfaced in my mind.
I remembered clearly how the Bellucci family had crumbled step by step under pressure, remembered Father's increasingly gaunt features, his desperate expression during those late-night threatening phone calls, Mother collapsing with grief at his funeral. ..
This man was my enemy! How could I feel grateful? How could I experience even a moment's flutter of attraction? He had destroyed my family first, and now he appeared like some kind of savior. What was this? Charity? Or another form of humiliation?
I curled up on the window seat, wrapping myself in the silk throw. Outside, the snow fell more heavily as evening descended.
I sank into deep confusion and inner turmoil.
A few days later, in the afternoon, I was taking tea with Anastasia and Anya in the sun-drenched conservatory.
This was one of my least favorite daily rituals. The glass conservatory was flooded with light, expensive tropical plants flourished luxuriantly, and floral fragrances drifted through the air—it should have been pleasant, but their presence made it suffocating.
Anastasia sat elegantly in a wicker chair, silently perusing a Russian book. Anya lazily scrolled through her phone, occasionally glancing up at me with calculating eyes. I sat across from them, mechanically raising my teacup to my lips while tasting nothing.
In this stifling silence, a maid entered.
"Madam," she addressed Anastasia respectfully, "a Miss Isabella Vance is here requesting to see Mrs. Noelle."
I froze. Isabella? What could bring her here?
Anastasia looked up, her brow creasing slightly, clearly displeased by this unexpected visitor.
"Show her in," she said coolly.
Moments later, Isabella clicked into the room on high heels. She wore a cream cashmere coat over a pink dress, her makeup flawless and her smile radiantly sweet.
"Mrs. Morozov, hello!" She approached Anastasia with enthusiasm, offering a slight curtsy. "I do hope you'll forgive my unannounced visit. I simply missed Noelle terribly and had to see how she's settling in."
Anastasia merely inclined her head without speaking.
Isabella turned to Anya next. "Miss Anya, what a pleasure to see you again! When I spotted you at Paris Fashion Week, that Dior creation you wore was absolutely divine! I can still picture it perfectly!"
Anya snorted softly, setting down her phone. "Miss Vance certainly has a remarkable memory."
"Oh, not at all." Isabella seemed utterly oblivious to the sarcasm, her smile growing even brighter. "Being able to remember beautiful things is truly a gift."
Finally, she moved to my side, grasping my hands firmly and studying me intently.
"Noelle! You've lost weight!" Her voice brimmed with concern. "Just look at you—you're so pale. Haven't you been eating properly? Or perhaps..."
She let the words hang meaningfully, her gaze sweeping deliberately over my neck—where Kholod's marks had faded to pale purple bruises.
I gently squeezed her hands in reassurance. "I'm perfectly fine, Isabella."
"Miss Vance is quite fascinating," Anya interjected suddenly, her voice pitched just so. "Our family's new missus has barely settled in, and here you are, already paying social calls."
Isabella's smile flickered momentarily but recovered swiftly.
She turned to Anya with wide, innocent eyes. "Oh, Miss Anya, you've misunderstood completely. Noelle is my dearest friend—now that she's finally found happiness in marriage, I want to ensure she's thriving."
She linked her arm through mine affectionately. "Isn't that right, Noelle? You know how much I worry about you."
"Yes, absolutely! I know how much you care!" I clasped her hand, laughing as I leaned into her warmth.
She shifted smoothly, addressing Anastasia with an even sweeter expression.
"You see, I've always maintained that marrying into the Morozov family is every woman's dream!
Speaking of dreams, Mrs. Anastasia, the way you've curated this manor is simply exquisite—your taste is beyond compare.
These tropical specimens must be specially air-freighted from South America, surely?
What extraordinary attention to detail."
Anastasia set aside her book, regarding Isabella with an unreadable expression.
"Miss Vance, you have expertise in horticulture?"
"Oh, I wouldn't presume to claim expertise—merely some modest appreciation," Isabella replied with becoming humility.
"Though I have heard tell that the Morozov family maintains an even more magnificent estate in Saint Petersburg, featuring a Winter Garden that's considered a masterpiece.
I would be absolutely enchanted to experience such artistry someday. "
"I'm afraid you'd find yourself disappointed," Anastasia replied flatly. "That estate doesn't receive visitors."
"Naturally, I was merely making conversation." Isabella smiled with perfect grace.
She turned back to me. "Noelle, would you mind showing me around the manor? I'm positively bursting with curiosity!"
I glanced toward Anastasia, awaiting her permission.
The elderly woman remained silent for several moments before finally nodding. "Go. Don't dawdle—return before dinner."
I escorted Isabella from the conservatory, conducting a tour of the manor grounds.
Throughout our walk, she maintained a steady stream of admiring exclamations.
"This library is absolutely magnificent!"
"That fireplace must be worth a fortune!"
"Noelle, you're incredibly fortunate!"
I responded absently, my thoughts elsewhere.
When we reached the greenhouse, Isabella suddenly halted and drew me to a secluded bench.
"Noelle," her voice took on a serious tone, "are you... truly all right?"
"What do you mean?" I looked at her with confusion.
"I mean..." she hesitated, "living with Kholod—have you adjusted to it?"
"Well enough." I preferred not to elaborate.
"I heard..." she dropped her voice conspiratorially, "I heard something happened to Lorenzo."
My entire body went rigid.
"What... what happened to him?"
"Oh, darling." Isabella sighed heavily. "From what I understand, he suffered several broken ribs and a fractured hand. All because..."
She gazed at me with pointed significance.
"Because of what?" I pressed urgently.
"Because he tried to rescue you." Isabella gripped my hands tightly. "Noelle, I know perfectly well there was nothing between you and Lorenzo, but Kholod sees things differently. He was furious, which is why he..."
"I see." I interrupted, my voice trembling slightly.
"Noelle, you must be extraordinarily careful." Isabella's eyes filled with genuine worry. "A man of Kholod's stature and temperament... you absolutely cannot risk provoking his anger again. I'm desperately concerned for your safety."
"I haven't provoked him." I protested weakly.
"Of course you haven't, darling." She patted my hands soothingly. "But sometimes, even when you've done absolutely nothing, these men will imagine slights. It's their nature—they're intensely possessive creatures."
She leaned closer, her voice dropping to barely a whisper. "Noelle, you must learn compliance. I know it's difficult, but for your family's sake, and to make your own existence more bearable, you need to be accommodating. Please?"
I gazed into her sincere eyes, feeling genuinely moved. In this moment, she seemed to be the only person who truly cared about my well-being.
"I understand. Thank you, Isabella."
"We're friends, after all!" She brightened considerably. "Oh, regarding your wardrobe... while what you're wearing is lovely, it doesn't quite reflect your current position. Perhaps I could help you select some pieces? I know several exceptional designer ateliers..."
"That's not necessary." I declined politely. "Kholod has already provided extensively for me."
"Wonderful, then." She nodded approvingly. "Still, Noelle, you really should consider evolving your style. Men are such visual creatures—you want Kholod to feel that you're making an effort for him. That's how you earn better treatment."
I remained silent, simply nodding in acknowledgment.
We continued chatting about inconsequential matters—new handbag collections, shoes, upcoming social events...
Before departing, Isabella embraced me warmly.
Just as she began to pull away, she whispered almost inaudibly in my ear. "Darling, stay obedient and compliant—that's how you survive and thrive."
Then she released me, turning with practiced elegance to glide away.
I remained standing there, watching her silhouette vanish down the corridor.
At dinner, Kholod failed to appear. Only Anastasia, Anya, and I sat at the long table. The atmosphere remained as oppressive as ever. I mechanically cut the food on my plate while Isabella's words echoed relentlessly in my mind.
Suddenly, Anya set down her cutlery with a sharp clink and fixed me with a piercing stare.
"Keep your distance from that woman." Her voice was ice-cold, her gaze razor-sharp.
I startled, looking up at her in bewilderment.
"Excuse me?"
"Isabella Vance." Anya articulated each syllable with cutting precision. "Stay away from her. Right now, you're her most promising ladder for social advancement."
This unexpected warning left me completely off-balance. I glanced toward Anastasia, but she appeared entirely unsurprised and gave a slight, knowing nod.
My heart plummeted. They were warning me. But about what exactly? Were they alerting me to Isabella's hidden agenda? Or were they mocking me—suggesting that as the daughter of a fallen family, I was cut from the same cloth as social climbers like Isabella?
I kept my expression carefully neutral, simply lowering my gaze and murmuring quietly, "Okay, I understand. Thank you for the warning."
Anya's frown deepened, clearly taken aback by my subdued response.
"Do you truly get what I'm telling you?" she pressed.
"I do." I met her gaze with a polite smile. "I'll be appropriately cautious."
"You—" Anya started to continue, but Anastasia's voice cut through sharply.
"That's enough, Anya." She set down her wine glass with finality. "Maintain your composure."
Anya shot me one last resentful glare but fell silent.
Dinner concluded in heavy silence. I rose to excuse myself.
"Noelle." Anastasia's voice stopped me in my tracks.
I paused and turned back to face her.
She sipped her after-dinner wine with deliberate leisure, her voice calm yet carrying unmistakable authority. "Anya's words may be harsh, but you would be wise to heed them carefully."
She raised her eyes—those penetrating amber orbs so remarkably similar to Kholod's—meeting mine with newfound seriousness. "In this household, learning to distinguish genuine sentiment from calculated manipulation is your most essential survival skill."
"Yes, I understand completely."
Returning to my bedroom, I slumped against the closed door and released a long, shuddering breath. What an absolutely wretched day.
I drifted to the window, gazing out at the impenetrable darkness of the forest beyond. Snow continued its relentless descent, flake by flake, silently shrouding the world in white. Much like my existence—buried beneath accumulating layers of constraint and expectation.
I recalled Isabella's parting whisper, "Stay obedient and compliant."
Submission.
Appeasement.
This was the universal expectation placed upon me.
I was suddenly overwhelmed by profound exhaustion and desolation. What exactly was my role in this house? Wife? Tool? Or merely some disposable ornament?
I curled up on the window seat, cocooning myself in the cashmere throw.
Outside, the snowfall intensified, as though intent on burying the entire world beneath its weight.
And here I sat, trapped in this gilded cage, watching those crystalline fragments cascade helplessly downward.
I had lost not only my freedom—it seemed my final shreds of dignity and autonomous identity were being systematically stripped away as well.
How would I endure the endless days stretching ahead?
The thought sent bone-deep cold coursing through me.